


December 10

by Showeranon



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Dersecest - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:16:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Showeranon/pseuds/Showeranon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave makes a surprise visit to Rose all the way up in Upstate New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December 10

“Have you ever even seen snow?”

“A few times. Nothing more than an inch.” Dave said, kicking his sneaker through a small drift, “Still brought the whole city to a standstill, though. Like if there was a sudden announcement of an unreleased Harry Potter transcript that just hit the shelves…” He looks at Rose, curious, “You would happen to know anything about that, would you?” He asks. Rose chuckles.

Dave regretted not wearing boots, not even bringing boots, as Rose had advised. Though one could argue that Dave didn’t have the best judgment in the world.

Passion makes you do a lot of things that you normally wouldn’t. So does madness. Was it passionate to drive nearly 2,000 miles, twenty-nine hours to go see someone you’re close to, or was it just crazy?

It’s probably a little bit of both, at least in Dave’s case. Of course, he would never let Rose know that. A visit, an intended week or so up north in the guise of a humorous, mocking gesture. Dave talked himself up, Rose never thought he would take the time and energy to actually follow through. Dave didn’t consider the sheer force of will that it took to not turn around in Arkansas. Once he made it past Kentucky his choice was irrelevant. Two days of exhausting driving, for Dave. A good ten at least, from how she figured, of putting up with an insufferable prick, for Rose.

They’re both idiots. Of course, romantic gestures make you do idiotic things.

But why on Earth would either of them consider this romantic? It’s a game, and games are simply meant to be played.

Rose and Dave walk down a forest path, far from the illumination of the exterior lights of Rose’s stately manor. Snow crunches underneath two pairs of feet, and two pairs of hands are shoved into two pairs of pockets. It’s dark, this far from the house, but there’s a good moon out tonight, just enough for them to see.

Having come unprepared for the weather, Rose saw fit to outfit Dave with more appropriate attire. Over his jeans and sweatshirt was a dark blue peacoat and a tweed newsboy flatcap. He doesn’t comment on the handmade red scarf. Rose wears a mauve coat, scarf, and matching earmuffs. She silently notes that a skirt and leggings probably weren’t the best choice, but refuses to acknowledge this. It pulls her outfit together too well.

“Chucks probably weren’t the best idea. Why would I ever waste my money on those new speakers when these bad boys get me, like, six times the mileage,” Dave mutters, stepping into footprints on the trail, “Mister William Joel, he knew his shit, that’s for sure.”

Rose must come down here a lot, he surmised. She hadn’t told him where they were going. It bothered him, but he couldn’t show it. Rose smirked. Her lips were dry; she had forgotten to apply chapstick. Maybe she was growing careless. She had to make sudden preparations when Dave’s car rolled into her driveway, so things would naturally be out of place. She had to make sure things were in order, so that she could start their games with the upper hand.

She’d never admit that it was the boy that had caused her to slip up, or that it was the boy that made her choose a skirt that night.

They continue down the path, winding its way around through the foliage. Sometimes wordlessly. At other moments, there’s conversation, sometimes even laughter, but neither is saying what’s really on their minds.

Rose leads Dave down to the edge of a frozen lake. Snow has been cleared off a modest section of the ice, and the etchings of skate blades mar the glassy surface. Powdered ice still lingers on the surface, implying that Rose had been down here earlier today. But Dave isn’t paying attention to that. He turns to Rose, lowers his sunglasses, and shoots her a look.

“There’s no chance in hell you’re getting me skating. We didn’t even _bring_ skates.” Dave says as levels his glasses and strikes the frozen surface with his heel. He doesn’t really know if he was expecting anything other than a distinct lack of friction when his leg flies up into a high kick. He maintains balance and brings his leg back down, playing it off with but furrowing of his brow.

Rose chuckles, and knows that Dave is rolling his eyes behind his foggy spectacles.

“Not the point. Look,” She grabs Dave by the arm and directs his attention up towards the moon. Dave pulls his arm from Rose’s hand, but complies. The lake must have been used for logging, Dave figures, because there’s almost no treeline on the other side. The moon is in full view, reflecting off of the snow and ice, making the entire valley a glowing basin of winter light.

Rose is grinning, apparently enraptured. Dave shrugs.

“View’s better from the roof.” He says. Rose glowers.

“Perhaps, but I think that it carries a certain intrinsic value when not corrupted by urban sprawl.”

“Somehow being surrounded by trees and rocks and dirt and shit makes looking at the same damn moon on the same damn night more important, somehow?” Dave asked. There was a little part of his questioning that was earnest.

“Well I certainly think it’s more romantic.” She says, casually. Dave doesn’t look at her, but he doesn’t have to. He knows there’s a glint in her eye. He knows this angle. She’s been playing it for years. But it’s nothing more than an angle, a tool to get under his skin.

Right?

“Oh absolutely,” Dave retorts. He holds out his hands and folds his fingers together, forming a rectangle through which he views the landscape, “Put this on a zip disc, send it to your lawyer. File me under funky…”

“What?”

“Hallmark’s gonna have one helluva lawsuit on their hands when we get through with them, that’s for fucking sure.”

“It’s incredible. Copyrighting natural landscapes. Why hasn’t anyone thought of it before. Dave, you’re the lord of sly business maneuvers, the shogun of the untapped market.” She says, pursing her mouth clad in black lipstick.

“A veritable master of markups, emperor of cutthroat stockbroking,” He pauses, turning his head towards Rose, “I’m Gordon fucking Gekko and I don’t have my mansion in Manhattan and Charlie Sheen as my personal toadie. Instead I got an icy pond in upstate New York and a persnickety young English major…” Dave says, trailing off towards the end. Rose gazes out across the lake, vacantly, as if vaguely disappointed. This, Dave _does_ catch, “… Who still isn’t being straight with me as to the exact nature of my visit here.” He stops, leans down to dig a rock out from underneath the snow, and hurls it across the lake, past the skating area, sailing off into the night like a cannonball launched at some poor, unknown vessel adrift in the perfectly calm darkness of the thrashing sea.

“What’s not straight about this,” Rose asks, mimicking his behavior and digging for stones of her own, starting to throw them in tandem with Dave, “You came for a visit and I’m being a welcoming hostess.”

“That’s exactly what isn’t straight about this. I drove almost 2,000 fucking miles to get here and you’re not even trying to screw with me. You play a little here, a little there…” He pauses, tossing and catching a stone in idleness before casting out across the lake, “And I would expect maybe something else-”

“What exactly is it you were hoping for?” Rose cuts in.

 “But I just can’t nail down what _you’re_ going for here.” Dave says, completing his sentence, eyes unflinching behind his foggy sunglasses. Rose frowns, but draws her mouth into a small, wry grin.

“I can’t say I really know what you were expecting to find here. A week or so full of cat and mouse, playing practical jokes and preying on each other’s insecurities?” She asks, Dave doesn’t respond, “No, that’s more something you and John would get up to. Playfully, of course, you’d always be looking out for each other.”

“What’re you-“

“Maybe you were just looking to get away. Your brother could be move overbearing than I’m aware, especially in the holiday season, which is no doubt hectic, as the fourth quarter often is for a legitimate businessman.” Rose smiles and has started walking circles around Dave.

“It’s not _that_ -“

“Did you intend to meet Jade here, too? Have her fly in and recreate some sort of perfect romantic winter fantasy? But that would be impractical for her, wouldn’t it. My mother’s gone until Christmas. Perhaps it was some sort of sordid rendezvous with the Lalonde matriarch?” Rose says with a grin, the slightest hint of pleasant venom in her voice. Dave’s face doesn’t change; his pale skin is already a noticeable hue from the temperature and slight windburn. There’s no way she’d notice his infuriated blush. Or so he hoped.

“Rose-“ Dave starts. Rose grins.

“Perhaps I’m getting closer to the mark than I think.” Rose says, reaching out with ungloved hand, wrapping a slight grip around Dave’s pinky finger. He immediately withdraws his hand.

“So is that why you knitted me this scarf. Why you’re wearing a skirt out here when it’s below freezing? Because you think that I wanted to come here to fuck _your mom?_ ”

Rose stops. Her eyes widen, and she rests her hands at her sides. Rose’s gaze glasses over, just slightly; the features on her face soften. They stare at each other for a minute, going on two. Her lips open, but close without saying anything. Dave drops his gaze to the packed snow at their feet.

“Forget it,” He says, eyebrows knotted underneath his glasses, “Forget all of it.” He says, turning back towards the trail. Rose crosses her arms and pouts. She holds her hands up around her mouth and calls to Dave.

“You’re not gonna be able to find your way back!” She yells, playful, yet earnestly concerned.

“Just fucking watch me!”  He calls back. Dave disappears beyond the treeline. Rose quickly follows.

It takes some doing, but they manage to return to the Lalonde manor. Dave and Rose wordlessly remove their shoes. Dave discards his jacket to the wet floor and trudges through the living room. Rose tosses her jacket on a leather sectional and stays in hot pursuit, tiptoeing around wet spots on the rug.

“Would you like a drink? A martini, maybe some hot chocolate?” She asks, as genuine as possible. Dave throws himself onto the sectional, staring at the ceiling.

“Whatever’s fine.” He says, dismissively. Rose shrugs, pinching her lips together and moving behind the bar at the rear of the sectional. Dave hears the clicks and whirrs of some machines humming as he glowers at the popcorn ceiling some twenty feet above him. He notices soft footsteps ascending elaborate staircase and pauses, raising his head in interest. Rose is gone, wordlessly. Dave reclines, shutting his eyes, trying his best to not care where she’s run off to.

His reverie is broken by a soft mass striking his face. He doesn’t react, but slowly gets up, pulling the bundle of cloth off and examining it. A firm pillow, a red knitted afghan, and a world-weary dark grey sweater. He tightens his grip on the blanket, but doesn’t comment on it.

“I figured that you’d just sleep in whatever you’ve got underneath, but it can get kind of chilly here at night.” Rose says, standing behind the sectional. Dave glances up, lowering his sunglasses just slightly. She’s abandoned her usual attire of skirt and t-shirt and ever present hairband in exchange for a lavender bathrobe complete with initials monogramed on the right breast. The fairer climate of the house makes Dave’s embarrassment slightly more obvious. Rose curls a corner of her mouth.

“Can I stay and chat a bit?” She asks, smiling, “Just talk?” Dave rolls his eyes.

“You seem pretty ready for bed, don’t you think?” He snips, collapsing underneath the afghan. Rose crosses her arms and frowns. She heaves a sigh and shakes her head, sarcastically, before turning on heel and tiptoeing up the stairs. Dave waits for the lights to fade before removing his sunglasses and placing them on the coffee table. He twists himself into a cocoon of wool and frustration, falling into an uneasy sleep.

Dave awakens, facing away from the couch, at the behest of an unknown force. He sits bolt upright, his right hand slashing forward out of muscle memory, completing its stroke before he realizes that not only is he empty handed, but that there is no assailant. Dave falls back onto the couch and rubs his eyes.

“I’m cold,” says Rose, standing in front of Dave, blocked by darkness. He frowns.

“And?” He responds, groggy.

He protests when she grabs his wrist. He protests when she pulls him off the couch and up the stairs. He protest when she stops and pulls him closer, grabbing his hands and wrapping them around her waist as she leads them into her room, but stops, allowing her to guide him. He doesn’t protest when her delicate fingers unwrap from his and undo the knot of her bathrobe, letting it slide to the floor, before she pulls him into her bed.

He doesn’t protest when she asks him to stay for another week.

**Author's Note:**

> For Kathy. This one was a lot of fun to write.


End file.
